The First Hunger Games (SYOT)
by jds2416
Summary: Out of the crushing darkness and horrible dispare dawns a bright new era. Welcome to the first Annual Hunger Games (yes, I know, I am a basic bitch, but I promise I'm a good writer so *finger guns* hit up my SYOT, which is currently OPEN)!
1. Chapter 1

Dear Diary,

We've been in the dark for eight days now. A hovercraft looms over District Five, blocking out the daytime sun. At night, it just gets worse. The night used to be so clear on the outskirts of town, where I live, that you could see the stars shiver. Now, there are no stars. No sun. No power. And most importantly, no hope.

Love, Eddie

-:-

Dear Diary,

Yesterday, Eliza tried to eat a brick because she was so hungry. I had to run over and wrench it out of her cold, dead hand. I'm trying to take care of her and Susan now, but it keeps getting harder. Our house is gone, and so are Mommy and Daddy. I don't know where they went, and I don't know where we're going either. Last night, we hid in the mulberry bush by the woods to sleep, but a Capital soldier caught us and hurt Susan really badly. Mean Old Tom from the market, which isn't a market anymore, says they're trying to starve us out since District Seven helped lead the rebellion.

I'll write when I find more paper, Georgia

-:-

Dear Diary,

Mom started hacking up black goo while she was nursing Gregory. It got in his mouth and hair and eyes and he was screaming and crying but Mom dropped him and now they're both dead and I don't know what to do. I had to run away from a soldier who tried to tear my dress off, and now I'm hiding in the rubble of the old Meadow church. I think I'm dying too. I heard my old teacher, Ms. Sharman, screaming in the town square the other day about plague and death. I don't know who are the bad guys anymore. I just want it to end.

Lucy P. of District 12

-:-

Dear Diary,

A Capitol soldier hung a captured rebel leader in the town square today. He made everyone watch, even though it was so dark and no one could see anything. The hovercrafts are still above us. There was smog hanging low, and a girl coughed too loudly during the soldier's speech. Another soldier dragged her to the stage and cut off her braids. I don't know why. I don't know what's happening. District Eight has gone to Hell, and no one can figure out why and how to surrender. Believe me, we've tried. The Capital won't listen. Why won't they listen? They've _won_.

Henry Hoffman

-:-

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've last written. Things are changing. For the better, I think. Mama says that the Capital has regained control over the rebelling districts, thank God. It was a horrible time. There was always something bad on the news, and there were food and clothing shortages for a while. But now, says President Cornelius Snow, newly elected, things will become available again, and we Capital citizens can begin, once again, to lead the lives we're meant to have. I'm just happy that I'll have chocolate cake for my twelfth birthday.

Lots of love, Persephone

-:-

Dear Diary,

We are so screwed. So so screwed. I'd rather be eating hay like I did during the siege than be hearing the news I did today. The president just announced our punishment brought on by the rebellion. The Hunger Games. Ironic, isn't it? Or perhaps well fitted. Perspective matters, I suppose. But, anyway, my name will be in this bowl for six years. We're fu screwed. Oh, what the hell. This is a special occasion. We are fucked.

Sincerely, Elisa

-:-

Ahhh! Hello there my friends! Welcome to my intriguing (albeit a lil basic) story! SYOT! Here's your form. I hope you enjoyed the flashes of perspective from the children of the revolution. ;)

PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR FORM WITH THIS SUBJECT TITLE: Tribute Name, District (ex: Elisa James, District 10). THANK YOU!

PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT THIS IS TH HUNGER GAMES! not a whole lot of career training has gone on, though they may be pretty eager since they're loyal to the capital.

I have every right to not choose a tribute if I feel that I don't have enough information. I also have every right to say you cannot have a reserved character after a certain period of time (week?). Ok, bitchiness aside, welcome!

This form can also be found on my profile.

Name-

Age-

District-

Backup District-

Appearance (eye color shape, hair color style length texture, skin tone, height, weight, body type, shape of face,etc.)-

Health (medical issues, how easily they fall ill, disorder, etc.)-

Personality (I need paragraph form! Not a string of adjectives.)-

Backstory (Where they came from, what their life has been like up until now)-

Family (members and a brief description of each)-

Friends (names and brief descriptions)-

Hobbies-

Strengths (At least four, MENTAL and physical)-

Weaknesses (Equal number or more than strengths)-

Weapon of choice-

Volunteer or Reaped (If volunteer, why (please, viable reason)? If reaped, reaction?)-

Token-

Outfits (Reaping, Chariot, Interview)-

Training Strategy-

Training Score-

How they earned their score-

Angle for Interview-

Strategy for Games-

What they do at the Cornucopia-

Romance?-

Allies?-

Bloodbath Tribute?-

Preferred death?-

okee dokee! ily guys! xoxo julia


	2. Chapter 2: Tatiana Silver (D1 Female)

My muscles ache, and it's with a hiss of pain that I slip into the smooth, silky water. It may be soft and sweet against my sore body, but I can't help but notice the jolting shock of cold that also runs through my limbs. The Rebellion only ended three or four months ago, and though my family isn't so badly off, we live without certain luxuries I'm used to.

I sigh as my body slowly adjusts to the cold temperature, and suddenly duck under the water, eager to get the bath over with. My long blonde hair collapses under with me. I can't help but run my fingers through it while under, the strands light and weightless. The bathtub is small, and Alex said it used to be a container for coal, but I'm still able to fit, my short, fragile-looking figure sliding right in.

Underwater, everything is blurry, but I'm almost able to think more clearly. I point my toes, tears pricking my eyes for the third time that day. They never spill over, just stay there, stuck, unmoving.

-:-

 _Flashback_

" _No!" Jazi is screaming. "No! NO!" Her tiny figure sprints towards the rubble, and it's with shaking hands that I have to pull my sister back, restraining her easily. I may not look like much, but I am strong._

 _Emerald and Ebony have fallen to the ground, sobbing heavily, arms wrapped around one another. Dad is lying three meters away, unresponsive, unmoving, Alex kneeling by his side. I can't bear to join him, but I have to know._

" _Dead?" I eventually call, voice hoarse from smoke. Soot stains my tanned face, tears run down my cheeks, purging chemicals from my eyes. "Is he dead?" Emptiness tugs at my soul, threatening to swallow me whole._

" _Alive." Alex finally whispers, his voice carried to me by the struggling breeze, worming its way through the thick smoke._

-:-

He was as good as dead. I sit up, wringing out my hair before I step from the tub onto the creaky wooden floor. It's dark and damp, its age carved into it, initials and simple drawings scattered across it.

The rebel bombing attack put Dad into a coma. They say he isn't quite brain dead, not yet anyway, but I've come to believe that he won't wake up. I don't tell Emerald, Ebony, or Jazi this. They have enough trauma in their life as is. No need to take away one of the only hopes they have left.

"Tatiana!" Alex's voice floats up the stairs. I quickly scrub myself dry, throwing on an old robe and a pair of socks before I move slowly down the stairs, still sore from three hours of ballet training.

I must've been smart from a young age, because I told Mom and Dad I was going to be a ballerina when I was four years old. It's been nine, and my conviction of my ambition hasn't changed one bit. They told me no at first. It was too expensive, I didn't have enough time, _they_ didn't have enough time. But, eventually, they gave in.

Nine years and two hundred thirty-six pairs of pointe shoes later, here I am. Even after the Rebellion, Alex, who's now running the family's jewelry and forgery shop, insisted that a large part of our monthly income go to my ballet education. Another portion goes to Dad's medical bills. The rest is for necessities.

"Yeah?" I step into the kitchen, grinning at my older brother, who is sitting at the kitchen table. Through a window, I can see my younger siblings playing in the bright light. I slide into the chair next to Alex, eyes still fixed on their laughing figures, rolling about in the soft green grass. You couldn't tell that just months ago, a fallen building had rested there, its remnants smeared with blood.

He coughs. "Nervous about today?"

I knit my fingers, trying to stop their constant tapping and exploration of the surface around me. I consider lying to my brother, but honestly, who am I kidding? "Yeah." I whisper.

-:-

 _Flashback_

" _Don't TOUCH me!" Emerald yelled angrily as a peacekeeper dressed in black pants and a high collared shirt wrenched him away from us and into a section filled with other boys._

" _Emerald!" Ebony cried, pulled in the other direction by a similar figure to the section for young girls. Around us, families were being pulled apart, women to the right, men to the left. Children at the front, adults at the back._

 _Capital soldiers, newly dubbed 'peacekeepers', carried out their orders, handguns and tasers hanging from their belts. Cries and screams echoed from all corners of the square._

" _NO! NO! Don't take my baby! Please! I beg you!"_

" _Gloss! You can't take him! He's my brother! NO!"_

" _Tatiana!" I'm wrenched back to Earth by the shrill voice of my little sister. "Tatiana! No!" I don't cry, just shake my head at her as she's dumped in a pen of children. "Cooperate Jazi!" I remind her. A peacekeeper grabs my arm, leading me away. "Just do what they say!"_

" _Citizens of District One," a booming voice echoes from nowhere. I initially duck, the sound surprising me. "We are here to witness the beginning of something wonderful."_

-:-

They didn't draw the names then, just explained the basic premises of the Game we were about to play. Every man, woman, and child was identified, a part of an effort by the Capital, to begin organizing our broken society.

Today is reaping day. In three hours, two of the children of the remaining enemies of the Capital will be shipped off to an arena to fight to the death with twenty two others. I'm almost sure that I'm immune to this, since we are, and have alway been Capital loyalists, but one can never know, I suppose.

"Don't worry," Alex says, shrugging. "You won't get reaped. It'll probably someone like, like, Saphia Tremaine. Everyone knows her Dad was a spy for the rebels." He sets his pencil down, grinning at me. "You're going to be fine."

I nod, trying to think optimistically. "Course." I flash him a playful smile. "Now let me go get into my finery," I giggle, standing up and tossing my hair in an exaggerated manner. I sprint up the stairs, ignoring my muscles, which still ache from dance.

With deliberate and careful motions, I lift the dress from the closet, holding it up against myself to see how it looks. It's blue and white, brand new and bright. I pull it on, twirling in the mirror in delight. It's been awhile since I've gotten to wear something so beautiful.

I rummage through the chest of drawers next to my bed, searching for my silver hairbrush. When three searches yield nothing, I groan. "Julia." I mutter, slipping from my room, down the short hallway and into what used to be a small broom closet, but is now the bedroom of my girlfriend.

"I knew it!" I snatch the tool from her bed, skipping back to my room to plait my hair. Fifteen minutes and many nervous sighs later, I am ready. My friends and I are planning to meet on the corner of Paris Lane, so that we can walk to the town square together.

"Tatiana!" I'm about to leave the room when I hear a faint call echoing from my window. I rush over, fiddling with the latch until I'm able to get it open. Standing below is Katana, my best friend. "Hurry up!" She yells, before I have a chance to get a word in edgewise. "Sterling and Julia are already there!"

I glance around quickly, looking straight down. It's about ten feet, give or take. I'm almost five, so that would leave me with five feet to fall if I just…

"Hold on!" I call, not really thinking it over. "Be down in one second!" I climb over the window ledge, grabbing onto the wood with my fingers, ignoring Katana's yells of annoyance and shock. I straighten my body, pointing my toes, aiming for the patch of grass. I let go.

It takes me less than a second to fall, miss the grass, and land at Katana's feet, skinning my knee and getting the dust that still hasn't left the District onto my new dress. "Ouch," I mutter, slowly getting to my feet. Katana helps me up, rolling her eyes.

"You are literally the dumbest person I've ever met," She says, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. We begin to walk to corner of Paris Lane, watching the rush of children and adults alike hurrying to get to the reaping on time. "I seriously hope you don't get picked for the Games, because you'll probably die."

"Hey!" I say indignantly, brushing off my dress as I walk. "I may look vain and silly and ditzy all the time, but I'm actually a very smart person."

"Oh yeah? Prove it." She jokes back, playfully nudging me.

"Have a Rubix Cube?" I ask, referring to one of the old toys that they don't make anymore. Katana's family used to have one, before the war destroyed everything.

"You don't even have to be smart to solve a Rubix Cube. You just need to memorize algorithms. And even if you were smart, that doesn't solve the problem of your lack of impulse control." She fires back, eyes glinting.

I open my mouth to retort, but close it again as Julia and Sterling come into view. "Hi!" I wave madly, bouncing up and down with great energy. The childish energy I'm exhibiting just makes me look even younger than I already do. I sigh, and quickly stop bouncing.

Julia slings her arm over my shoulder. Her parents were also killed in the bombing that put my Dad into a coma, but her house was completely destroyed as well. Since ours mostly survived, we offered to take her in. I give her a peck on the cheek. "Hi!" I grin.

She idly runs her fingers through my hair. "Hey," she says. If my voice is an excited tumble, words falling so fast that they trip over one another on their way out, her's is a lazy, low drawl, floating idly from her lips and into the ears of those around her. "Nervous? Sterling is."

I sympathetically grin at my friend, who's shuffling nervously. "I'm not that scared." He says quietly. I can't help but laugh a little bit. It looks strange, to see such a golden-looking boy cowering in the way Sterling is now.

We walk slowly together, observing others around us. Most mothers are crying, most children are stock-still and nervous. I see my siblings out of the corner of my eye and wave to them, trusting I'll see them later.

"Hide me!" Sterling suddenly moans as he crouches behind me, just as we reach the square, separated into pens for tributes of varying ages. I whirl around, glancing quickly at our surroundings.

"What?" I ask, as Julia and Katana begin to make their way to their age groups. Sterling sighs, standing back up. "That's my ex-boyfriend over there," he says, pointing nervously.

I glare in the general direction that his finger is pointing. "What an asshole!"

"I know right?"

I hug him tightly for a moment before heading to my own section, ready to get this thing over with. As our escort, a Capital woman dressed to the nines, takes the stage, I allow myself to zone out.

-:-

 _Flashback_

" _Are you kidding me?" Emerald's voice sighs from next door. "There is no way I'm going to let you borrow THAT toy."_

" _Stop being such a jerk!" Ebony fires back at her twin. I sigh, shaking my head. The twins would not stop arguing. It had been three days since we had power, and a curfew had been imposed by the Capital soldiers, preventing children from leaving their homes during the day. Suffice to say, we were all getting restless._

" _Go fish," I nudged Mom, who was staring out into space. Even though we were short on everything- food, water, clothes, you name it- my mother still managed to look good._

 _She sighed, drawing another card. I saw the fleeting look of disgust that crossed her face every time she picked up another dusty, grimy card, but there was nothing to be done. I sighed as well._

 _She opened her mouth, about to speak, when a sudden scream interrupted her. We stood, sprinting from the room. The twins were screeching as they stood by the window, watching a building nearby burst into flames._

" _Rebels," my mom put a hand over her mouth, which fluttered nervously. "Oh dear God, it's the rebels."_

 _I dragged them away from the window, trying to find some place for all of us to hide, but it was too little, too late. The front door crashed open, a man dressed all in white kicking it down. A mask was covering his face, but bloodstains were clearly visible on his clothing. My stomach turned._

 _Everything was blurry. I was vaguely aware of my mother screaming, Emerald and Ebony yelling in indignation as they were forced to the ground and searched. My little sister was thrown into the room; Dad came flying in a second later._

 _A slapping noise, resistance from Mom. Her limbs flew, but his gun flew faster. A click, a scream, a shot._

-:-

"Tatiana Silver!" The high-pitched voice of our escort awakens me from my memory.

I swallow, shocked. That isn't possible! It can't be me, it was supposed to be Saphia, or a rebel's kid! I'm the textbook definition of a good Capital citizen. They can't…

"Tatiana?" Our escort peers around. "Don't be shy now, dear, the Capital will just _love_ you!"

Feeling slightly sick to my stomach, I set my jaw. "My name is Tatiana Silver, and I am from District One." I whisper, giggling slightly, trying out a ditzy voice before I step out into the aisle, isolating myself from the protective crowd. I instantly feel exposed, in danger, but I smile anyway.

I bounce up to the stage, firmly fixing my eyes out the camera. As soon as I reach the microphone, our escort grabs me by the shoulders. "Hello, dear!" She smiles in a silly manner. I try to copy her, cocking my head slightly. "Why don't you tell us a little about yourself!"

It's with great effort that I don't give her a quizzical glance. Are we having an interview on stage? "My name is Tatiana Silver, and a fun fact about me is that I just love to dance!" I gush, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I may as well get into it.

"Why don't you give us a little twirl then!" She smiles, stepping back. "How wonderful is that! We have a dancer in our very first Hunger Games!"

I grin indulgently, performing a quick pirouette before standing beside her, the ditzy, childish look plastered onto my face.

I am the first female tribute of District One.

Ok everyone! hope you enjoyed! Make sure to submit a tribute if possible!

Questions-

1\. Favorite thing about Tatiana?

2\. Least favorite?

3\. Something I can do better?

Love you! xoxo julia


	3. Chapter 3: Leon Palmer (D12 Male)

Before the war, the meadow of District Twelve was a fairly pleasant place. Obviously, one couldn't go there after seven o'clock, due to the strict curfew that had been put in place since the literal birth of Panem. I always used to joke that it was one of the main reasons the Districts rebelled. After all, what kind of society wants to stay in their homes after seven o'clock at night?

Now, the meadow is dangerous. The ground is scorched from the constant dropping of bombs, from the raging fires that consumed the grass and trees, leaving only ashes behind. The dirt is cracked and dry, the spindly lines widening with each passing day. It's almost as if the thought of the failed rebellion grows heavier each day on Twelve each day, pressing into the ground and forcing it farther apart.

I cough again, staring at the harsh metal fence that hums with electricity. It was renovated just last week, three days after the reaping and the Capitol's grand plan for revenge was announced. Barbed wire is piled high, appearing almost like a metal bush. The fumes from the coal mines, located a short distance away, choke me. I hack again in disgust, turning away from the "meadow" to start the short trek home.

I roll my shoulders back as I venture back into clean air, hungrily sucking the gas through my nostrils. My baggy clothes, specifically picked out to hide by bulky frame, move with me, twitching back and forth in the hot wind. August was harsh on District Twelve. While many places have returned to normal, or as normal as they could possibly be under such circumstances, the trade of Twelve, coal, has caused fumes and fires for the past few months, resulted in heated temperatures. Today, though it's already almost seven, reaping time, it is still hot.

The crumbling road finally leads me home. As I approach my family's small home, I spot Aidan and Henry, the three year old twins, rushing around with Ken, who's eight. I wave at them in greeting before turning the rusted knob of our door, my wrist twinging a bit as I do so. I shattered it at a young age, and it never quite healed properly.

I step inside, eyes adjusting to the dimly lit hallway, kicking off my shoes, which are covered in coal dust. I can hear my mom screaming and I can hear Dad yelling, so rather than head into the kitchen for dinner, my initial plan, I simply run upstairs, taking them two at a time.

-:-

 _Flashback_

" _Henry," my mother is crying, fat tears rolling down her thin cheeks. "you couldn't get home in time before the raid last night because you were sleeping with the owner of the pharmacy, not because you were helping gather supplies for the resistance."_

" _Don't be ridiculous, Clara," my father snaps back, avoiding her eyes. He strides up and down the length of our ruined kitchen, leaning down to pick up bullet shells and splinters of wood as he goes._

" _Stop LYING to me!" She screams, grabbing his arm as he bends down again. "Salvia SAW you, you bastard! She_ saw _you!"_

 _I cringe from my position. I'm hidden behind the pantry door, Josh, my younger brother by five years, currently approaching his eighth birthday, packed in beside me. "A typical sociological reaction," he whispers in my ear, his voice calm and unperturbed. "Rather than-"_

 _He's cut off by a sharp slap. I snap my eyes back to the scene, acutely focused. Dad has hit Mom, and she's groaning on the floor. A sharp yowl sounds as he kicks her in the ribs, yelling in frustration._

 _My cheeks are wet, and I don't know why. When I sneak a look back at Josh, even his genius-face is slack with worry and fear. Dad had changed. When he had finished and left the room, Josh and I ran out to comfort Mom. Rather than welcome us and thank us, the first words that left her mouth were-_

" _He should've hit you two instead. You worthless children."_

-:-

When I finally collapse on my bed, the first thing I hear is the crinkle of a paper under my pillow. With a sigh, I pull it out, grabbing a pencil and scratching another mark beside the long row of gray lines. At the top, scrawled in hasty handwriting, is "How Many Women Dad Has Slept With Who Are Not Mom".

I originally created it as a joke with my best friend Tina, who suggested we make the best out of a bad situation, but I've kept it up over the years. I sigh, throwing it aside and leaning back against the wall. I can still remember the first date Tina and I went on. It was horrible and awkward, and we both agreed to never to try to be more than friends again.

I was both relieved and nervous when we struck that deal. Relieved because the relationship was awful, and it was horrible to pretend I liked her in _that_ way. Nervous because I'm gay, and I can't afford to have Dad find that out. I can only imagine what he might say- or what he might do. It wouldn't be the first time he's hit me, and it wouldn't be the last.

I clamber from the bed at a knock on the door. It opens before I can get to it, the slow creaking echoing through my bedroom. Josh steps inside, blonde hair neatly combed. At thirteen years old, he's eligible for the first ever reaping. And unfortunately for me, at eighteen, so am I.

"How are you not dressed yet, Leon?" He rolls his eyes. Though he sounds quite normal at the moment, Josh is an official genius, and when we're arguing, or when it suits his fancy, he never let's me forget it. I'm smart as well, but nowhere near the level of my brother. "The reaping starts at exactly seven. It takes fourteen minutes and thirteen seconds to walk to the square. It's six thirty right now. You're going to have to hurry."

"Thanks, buddy," I say sarcastically, splashing water in my face from the small basin in the corner of my room. Coal blackens the water. "Got it. I hope you win!"

He pokes his tongue at me before leaving, presumably to begin his trek to the square with Mom. I chuckle to myself, examining my reflection in the mirror. My auburn hair is still matted with coal dust from the meadow, and my broad shoulders are as well. Even the puckered scar on the inside of my left arm is filled with black dust.

-:-

 _Flashback_

 _I was vaguely aware of the blaring newscasts that had been screaming news of a Capitol bombing of District Eight. Through my blurry vision, I could almost remember the half-naked mother and her deformed child begging for scraps in the alley way. If I tried, I might have been able to picture the shooting of peacekeepers by rebels that occurred in the street across from the school._

 _Dad had beaten me three nights before, alongside my mother. Mom had done nothing but scream at me as the wounds in her back healed, calling me worthless, useless, a burden, hideous, the worst thing that had ever happened to her. I could almost remember the acute pain I had felt, emotionally and physically._

 _Suddenly, everything is sharp, so bright and clear that it hurts my eyes. In my left hand is a thin metal instrument. A scalpel, shining and reflecting the dim light creeping in from the window in the corner of the room, is clutched in my sweaty hand. I can see the thin cords holding my bones together. Ligaments, I think they're called. Or maybe that's muscle to bone. I should ask Josh. He would know._

 _Everything goes blurry again. Am I crying? Do I have my glasses on? Where are my glasses?_

 _Brightness resumes, and a high-pitched ringing is in my ears. Acute pain stabs my head, over and over, a blunt knife cracking my skull. When I open my eyes again, the metal end of the scalpel is digging into my skin, bursting vessels and veins, deeper, deeper. Cutting into muscle._

 _The scalpel falls to the ground. Blood trickles, flows, streams. And I am gone._

-:-

I swallow hard, scrubbing the coal dust from the scar. My mother found me that day. She saved my life, but didn't become any kinder. I've learned from that mark on my body. It wasn't an attempt at suicide; I am not that kind of a person. It was almost an experiment. How hurt was I, and just how far could I go?

I've gotten better since then. Friends have helped me deal, and I'm a pretty fun person now, if I do say so myself.

I sigh, washing my hair and chest clean. I quickly dry off, pulling on my most hated polo shirt, though it actually fits me, unlike most other things, and a pair of dress trousers. I slip my glasses back on, suddenly able to see again.

As I amble through the streets, adrenaline rushing, preventing the fear from setting in, I spot Mark and Kristoff, two of my friends, a few paces in front of me. I jog to catch up, careful to avoid the small holes in the road.

"Hey," I say, tapping Mark on the shoulder. He turns around, smiling at me. "Hi," he says back, voice quiet, per usual.

Kristoff only gives me a curt nod, but I don't take offence or think this is strange. I've come to realize that it's just who he is. I take a look at the military-style formal wear he has on, and decide that he's picked out the perfect outfit to suit his mannerisms. I chuckle.

"Heading off to the trenches, Kristoff?" I joke, nudging him playfully. He rolls his eyes, sniffing slightly.

"Whatever, jerk," he intones. Mark lets loose a slight grin as well.

Kristoff and I first became friends at the age of eight. We sat together in our third grade classrooms and decided, in serious, little-boy voices, that we were both outsiders, and would make a great team, Kristoff and Leon against the world. Mark was Kristoff's friend from even before then, and we gradually began to hang out together as well.

"What's up, losers?" A feminine voice sounds from behind me. I glance over my shoulder, meeting the wicked dark eyes of Tina, who's smirking in a self-assured manner at our group. Mark immediately loses his footing, and I guffaw. I'm almost positive he has a crush on Tina, but for whatever reason, doesn't act on it. I suppose it's just as well, since Tina refuses to even consider any guy who wants to date, or do other things with, her.

"Just marching to my death!" I chirp in an exaggerated manner. "What about you?" In truth, I don't feel too nervous. Whether it be the adrenaline coursing through my veins or something more, I can't really say.

She laughs, a pure and high sound. It cuts through the sombre crowd, a beam of light in the pressing darkness that threatens to consume those around us. "Oh, shut up," she pushes me in a playful manner.

Kristoff gives a slight smile as well, glancing back at Tina, who immediately rearranges her face into a bored expression, rolling her eyes at me as Kristoff looks away again, disgruntled. She really dislikes him, stating that he's lazy, arrogant, rude, and she wants nothing to do with him.

I give her a look, and she looks innocently back at me. Mark points over her shoulder. "Tina, that boy is staring at you," he points out. I can detect a twinge of a territorialist attitude in his voice, and I raise an eyebrow. "You wanna say something?" I joke, whispering in a low voice so only he can hear me. Mark shoves me.

Tina smirked, turning back to us. "He bought me a pair of shoes this morning," she chuckles. She's been beginning to use her looks to get gifts, which, I maintain, is both immoral and completely unfair. I wish I looked half as attractive as she did, so I could get everything I wanted from various persons.

"Lucky," I groan, grinning slightly. "I wi-"

My voice is cut off by the resounding boom that can only mean a hand is tapping a microphone. Shoot. My friends and I glance at one another, and begin to sprint towards the square.

We arrive breathless, just as the peacekeepers are sorting the last children into separate pens. Tina is whisked away from us, and I give her a have joking, half forlorn wave. Kristoff, Mark, and I are ushered into a pen marked for eighteen year old boys. As our escort, a terrifying woman with fuschia skin, begins to talk, I pay closed attention to each and every word she, our mayor, and the propaganda-style video speaks.

 _Out of the ashes…_

 _The Capitol knows best…_

 _On this bright and beautiful day, a new tradition will be born…_

 _The_ lucky _girl is…_

"And now for the boys!" Her talons, which must be at least half a foot long, snag a white slip of paper, fluttering in the smoggy breeze. The crowd falls silent, save the sobbing and screaming of the parents of the girl onstage. I hold my breath.

"Leon Palmer!"

I don't stop holding my breath, exchanging panicked glances with Kristoff and Mark. No. This isn't possible. I didn't even think this was going to happen; it can't be me.

Peacekeepers drag me from the crowd, and I break away, wanting to walk to the stage on my own. No need to seem cowardly now. All of a sudden, the whole thing strikes me as a joke. I'll realize later it was because of the adrenaline, because of the extreme shock of the moment, but for now, I simply begin to chuckle.

By the time I reach the stage, I'm desperately suppressing a laugh, smiling widely as I shake the woman's hand. She smiles widely back, and I nearly faint from fear. Her teeth are fangs. Then, the whole thing just strikes me as even more ironic, and I let loose a guffaw of laughter.

I am the first male tribute of District Twelve.

hello! hope you enjoyed! here are some follow up questions:

1\. Favorite tribute thus far?

2\. Best thing about Leon? Worst thing?

3\. Anything I can do better?

ily all! please submit and share with your friends! I only have one more tribute to write as of right now, and I have SEVERAL more spots to fill (as in twenty two more). Thank you! xoxo julia


	4. Chapter 4: Dieter Heth (D2 Male)

I learned to be an accountant five months ago. Every week, Wednesday evening, without fail, I sit at the kitchen table, its surface old, worn, covered with the stories of families past and present. In the left corner is the stain where my mother spilled juice on my third birthday; in the lower right hand side is a deep gouge, from my first sword fighting lesson with Dad.

Currently, however, the kitchen table is covered in bills, each tucked neatly inside a white envelope. Normally Mom helps me with the organizing and calculating and recording and such, but today, she has locked herself in her room, unable to face the day and what it may bring for me and other children throughout Panem.

I sigh dramatically as I shuffle the envelopes and stack them in the corner. I absolutely hate this job. It isn't really even a job, just a chore that I get no money for, no thanks. I kick the chair I was sitting in, sending it careening back into the table, scratching its edge. Another memory engraved upon the surface.

I tuck my knife into my belt, jogging out the door, not bothering to say goodbye to Mom. I'll be back soon enough, anyways. As I stroll through our new neighborhood, which still has failed to grow on me, I take in the curious sites that surround me. Everywhere, through windows, on porches, in doorways, parents are hugging their children. I suppose that the possible date that one may be condemned to death can have that effect on families.

I begin to breathe through my mouth, pressing a cloth over my face as I pass a large pile of garbage. It isn't uncommon for me to see such a sight anymore. In my life before the revolution, a landfill in the middle of a neighborhood was laughable, unheard of. But now, it's as common as sidewalks and paved roads.

-:-

 _Flashback_

" _Please, Mr. Heth," low voices are coming from the parlor. I take care to miss the creaky steps as I slowly make my way down the stairs. "Your training, your inside information- it may be our last hope."_

 _I step across the expensive rug, imported from District One, and press my ear to the polished oak door. Men had been showing up at our estate for almost three weeks now, attempting to bribe my father, offering him money, power, possessions. They tried to sweet-talk him, to entice him with dreams of a glorious future for Panem. So far, my father hasn't yielded. I doubt this time will be any different._

" _And why should I help you, when it would put my entire family in danger?" Though I can't see him, I can imagine my father's low voice reverberating through the room, automatically taking control of the negotiations. He would be leaning forward, his deep brown eyes, identical to mine, fixed calmly on the man in front of him._

" _Sir, we know you are sympathetic to the rebel cause," a reedy voice pipes up, coming from somewhere on the outskirts of the room. "Do you really want to let this opportunity pass by?"_

 _Before Dad can get a word in edgewise, another man picks up the thread. "If you miss this, your child will never know freedom. He will never understand what it is like to not be brainwashed by the Capitol. He is young still- sixteen, did you say?"_

" _Yes, exactly-" my father draws a breath. "He is only sixteen. Rebel involvement ensures death for me, but it could also mean it for him, and I don't want that. He deserves a long life."_

" _But is a life without freedom truly a life at all?" the voice is quiet, low, nearly inaudible. I hold my breath, straining to hear my father's answer. The seconds turn to minutes, and still, I can't hear anything. Finally, when I'm about to turn away, my father says, "Give me the pen."_

-:-

After Dad signed the contract, he assisted Rebel forces for two months before the Capitol soldiers bombed our mansion during a tactics meeting, killing most people there and arresting the survivors, including my mother, father, three rebels, and I. They soon released Mom and I, realizing we had nothing to do with the plots that were being carried out, possibly not wanting to waste precious time on us.

Dad was shot by the town hall on March second, at 3:47 PM. I didn't go to watch, at his request, and he was shipped to our estate in a plain wooden box. I buried him in the middle of the night, alone, on the outskirts of peacekeeper training grounds. I knew that he would have wanted to be close to his life's work, to his pupils whom he had taught throughout the years.

After he died, we had no real source of income. We still don't. In order to get by, I've become an accountant of sorts, carefully managing the small fortune that is saved in the bank, spending as little as possible. I may very well run out soon, and until I can officially become an adult and get a better paying job as a peacekeeper, this is really all we have.

I approach the gates of the peacekeeper academy, waving lazily as I see Darius leaning against the brick building. He jogs over to meet me, opening the gate from the inside. "Nervous about today?" He immediately asks as we head to a training room.

I hesitate a moment. I don't think I should be nervous. Even if I did join, I have a massive advantage over the other tributes. Since I was big enough to hold and sword and a gun, my dad has been training me in the art of combat, in hopes that someday, I'll become a head peacekeeper in somewhere important and lavish, like District One, or even the Capitol.

But, at the same time, I can't help but feel a slight flutter of nerves. Anyone would at the idea of being thrown into a brutal battle against other children. It's sick and makes me hate the Capitol even more than I already do. I give an invisible shudder.

"Nervous?" I wiggle my eyebrows. "I think you mean overwhelmingly terrified." I grin and push the door to the training room open as Darius places his fingerprint on a sensor pad.

"I know what you mean," Darius laughs slightly. "It's kind of phantasmagorical."

"Oooo," I tease, raising my sword. "Look who's using big fancy words now! You brains instead of brawn now, Dorkius?"

"Shut up," he rolls his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitches. "You know just as well as I do that you can be both."

"Well where does that put you, seeing that you're neither?" I smirk. Before he can dream up a clever retort, I strike, and the clang of metal echoes through the large room. He parries, and we're suddenly locked in a strange dance, vicious and beautiful at the same time. It's one of the greatest things about swordplay, Dad used to say. The sheer oxymoron of it all.

-:-

 _Flashback_

" _Hold it out in front of you, Deiter," Dad commands, his keen eyes scanning the sword and its proportions to the height and length of my body. I groan and whine, the piece of metal heavy and causing my arms to ache._

" _Too heavy, huh?" he says finally, as if reaching a conclusion. I nod feverently, and he shrugs. "Alright, go ahead and put it down." Dad sighs, sitting back down on the red couch. I drop the sword, watching it fall to the fluffy white carpet. I step carefully around its sharp edges, hopping onto Dad's lap._

" _Don't worry," he grins, gesturing to an array of weapons piled in the corner. "We'll find the one that fits you the best."_

 _I follow his gaze, staring at the tangled blades and glimmer of silver and steel and bronze and gold that reflects through all parts of the living room. "I want to try again," I say eagerly, hopping back up. "We've got to find the best one before I start school tomorrow!"_

 _Dad chuckles slightly, slowly stretching and clambering to his feet. "Of course," he heads back over to the pile, hands on his hips as he looks down upon it, searching for something special. "We wouldn't want a seven year old to walk into his first day of peacekeeper training unarmed now, would we?" He mutters the last part a bit sarcastically._

 _I hop from one foot to the next, eager to see which sword, knife, or gun he'll pull out next. After a moment's consideration, the clang of metal sounds as Dad carefully extracts another sword. As he turns around, I grin with delight._

 _It's blade is long and sharp, nearly black in color, but has an opalescence and iridescence to it that I haven't yet seen in the others. The hilt is silver, inlaid with rubies and a black stone that I can't quite identify. When I lift it, it cuts through the air, parting the light and the dust that floats through the room. I grin, turning to Dad, who is beaming widely._

" _Dieter," he says, eyes shining with pride. "I think we've found your sword."_

-:-

I glance down at the same blade as I wipe sweat from my brow with the white gym towel, pushing my long, light brown hair away from my face. Darius is doing one more rep before we leave the academy to get ready for the reaping.

The training area is virtually deserted today, with only a few instructors stopping by to see who's occupying the practice rooms and weight room on what's supposed to be a somber day. I greet a few on a first name basis, since many of them were either Dad's good friends or students. We chat about various things as Darius finishes up, from the length of my hair to good natured teasing.

"Dieter!" Another man calls, shaking my hand firmly as I smile indulgently, unsure of who this one is. He must notice my blank look, because the first thing out of his mouth is, "I'm Edward, an old classmate of your Dad's."

I study him as he begins to reminisce, speaking of times that I have no recollection of. He has a strong face, littered with scars and the shadow of grey stubble on his chin, as though he had missed a spot while shaving. He is tall, muscular, straight-backed a proud, a man who, despite his aging, has remained strong and able.

"How's Ava?" He asks, speaking of my mother. I think back to the last time I saw her, two days ago. We may live under the same shabby roof, but grief and strain have left her unreliable and, for the most part, unseen. She spends days alone in her room, so quiet that she may as well be dead. She used to be beautiful, with dark curly hair and bright green eyes, but now her eyes are dark, her hair gray and brittle, thinning each passing week.

"She's great!" I smile, turning as Darius taps my shoulder. "It was great to see you, Edward." I say courteously, shaking his hand once more before I toss the towel into a hamper and stroll from the academy with my friend.

Though it's windy, the sun is brutal and relentless, baking the air as it flies by, intent on escaping the sun's blunt claws. The sky is a deep blue, the sun so bright that it makes every shadow look twenty times darker. Darius and I part at a fork and the road, me heading left to the slums, him to the middle class sector of two.

As I pass through, heading for home, I suddenly remember I was supposed to get a few items from the market this morning. "Shit," I mutter, checking my watch. We have an hour until the reaping, and, as the mayor said yesterday morning, those who don't show up exactly on time will be punished for their tardiness. I hiss, breathing out through my teeth in annoyance.

I spot a girl in front of me, dressed nicely in a frilly pink dress. She's not particularly pretty, but there's no doubt she'll not find me attractive. I grin to myself, quickly catching up to her. I fall into step, matching her paces exactly. It takes her all of three seconds to look up at me, and I can see her throat flexing inwards and outwards as she swallows.

"Hey," I say, voice flirtatious and self-assured. She merely squeaks in reply. "I'm Dieter, and you?"

"Alexandra," she finally whispers, eyes drifting from my face to my abs, which have conveniently been revealed as I begin to stretch, shirt moving slightly upwards as I do so.

"That's such a pretty name," I wink, casually resting a hand on her shoulder. She blushes deeply. Her blonde hair nearly turns pink, she's so rosy in the face. "Hey, Alexandra, do you mind doing something for me?"

She nods slightly, signaling her consent. "Sure," she squeaks. "Anything."

I tell her, sighing and heaving about the bread that I didn't pick up at the market, taking care to flex my muscles and give her a fair share of winks. I let my fingers idly drift of her shoulders and hair, just in case she's the kind of girl who likes that sort of thing. After I finish, she nods eagerly, turning around and rushing for the market. She sneaks little glances back at me while she runs, a broad smile on her face.

I chuckle, shaking my head. After I get that bread, it's unlikely she'll ever be seeing me again.

I pull open the door, dumping my bag on the ground. As expected, Mom is nowhere in sight. "I'm home!" I call, just in case she's wondering or listening for me. No answer.

I sigh, walking a few short paces to my room, where I wipe myself down with a washcloth, apply deodorant, and brush back my hair, periodically checking my watch as I go. The minutes fly by, and all too soon, it's time to meet up with Ryker, with whom I'll be walking to the reaping.

I throw on black jeans, a pink jumper, and black trainers, head into the kitchen to grab something to eat, and abruptly stop moving. Mom is standing by the table, dressed in a white robe. She looks up as I enter, cracked and dry skin stretching into a halfhearted smile.

"I had to say goodbye before you left for the reaping," she says, heading towards me. "Just in case, you know?"

"I know." I reply, striding over to hug her. I hug her loosely, afraid I might break her. She feels small and light, like a bird, with brittle bones and a certain weightlessness that hovers in the area around her. She smells like my childhood, the musky, dark scents of wood, brass telescopes, and woolen scarves. As the hug breaks, she grips my biceps with unusual strength, holding me at arm's length.

"Love you," she says simply, before letting me go.

"Love you too." With that, I step out into the uncertainty of the future.

I meet Ryker near the bakery, waiting around for him for almost three minutes before he finally shows up. He's breathless, his blonde hair flying all over his face and covering his eyes.

"Sorry… Late… Didn't… Ready…" he pants, kneeling over to catch his breath. I pull him back up getting him to walk with me to the square.

"I can't believe you," I shake my head in mock-disappointment. "How dare you not be completely overwhelmed with happiness and excitement about the day you might die!"

"Shut up, Dieter," he rolls his eyes. "Have you been like this all day?"

"Pretty much," I admit, nodding at a peacekeeper as we enter the square. "Darius was a little annoyed with me this morning at practice. Seemed to think I was been insufferable."

"Yeah, well you're always insufferable."

I punch him lightly as we head towards the section for seventeen year olds, blending quickly into the crowd of nervous boys. Over in the twelve year old section, I can see several girls crying, a couple of boy sniffling. I quickly look away.

"HAPPY HUNGER GAMES!" A shrill, obnoxious voice blares over the high-tech, invisible speakers, causing a ripple of laughter to echo through the crowd with nothing to fear. I snicker a bit after recovering from the initial shock. Our escort is a hideous woman, short and old, with a bright orange wig that keeping slipping off.

The ceremony passes as promised, with speeches, formalities, and plenty of propaganda. By the time the escort is about to choose the boy, I'm half-asleep, ready to go home, but the minute I hear the keywords, my head snaps up, staring intently at her wrinkled hand, which chooses a slip from the very bottom of the bowl.

"Dieter Heth!" She screams, voice shrill as ever.

A jolt goes up my spine. My mind is blank, my hands are sweaty, I'm floating upwards and away, and I can feel a thousand pairs of eyes on me. The eyes are what bring me back down to Earth, causing me to hit the ground with a surprising amount of force.

I take a deep breath, and then confidently step out from the crowd, heading down the path to the stage. My vision is tunneled, and my good ear, the other deaf from the explosion that captured my father, is filled with a high pitched buzz. I grin around, ascending the stage with grace and courage worthy of any peacekeeper. My dad would be proud.

When the microphone is shoved in my face, I smirk and crack a joke. "I've always wanted to be on TV!" I deadpan, causing the crowd, now at ease that both tributes have been chosen, to laugh loudly.

I am the first male tribute of District Two.

Yay! Ok, question time!

1\. Best tribute thus far?

2\. Best/Worst thing about Dieter?

3\. QCC?

please please please tell your friends about this! I don't have any tribute submissions rn, but don't want to have more than one per person!

ily all! xoxo julia


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